


The Spirit of Masochism

by shemlentrash (Jess_X)



Series: Control [2]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: BDSM, Bipolar Anders, Bloodplay, Canon-Typical Violence, Hate Sex, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Painplay, S&M, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 07:14:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4778327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jess_X/pseuds/shemlentrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "Sadism's Ghost." Anders is exhausted. He has not slept since his one-night-stand with Fenris, and is struggling emotionally in the aftermath of it. Anders tries to remain in control, but unfortunately Fenris can read him all too well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Awful Energy

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS for violent BDSM, and some angst.

"It burns," the boy whined, his wide eyes glassy with tears.

Anders smiled warmly down at him. "I know," he said gently. "Let me see." The boy sniffed, and raised his little arm so that Anders could look at it. He rubbed his eyes with his free hand while the healer's fingers danced across his torn flesh.

The boy must have been about five, but perhaps younger. Anders did all he could to make the spell painless, inhaling deeply and steeling himself as the careful healing magic built in his veins. The kid looked tired, but it was nothing to how Anders felt.

"There you go," Anders told him, his eyes crinkling with kindness even as they itched from exhaustion. The boy whimpered as his flesh knitted together and the blood vanished. Anders knew the affected area would be tingling a little where the lost blood was reabsorbed.

“Nothing has _ever_ hurt _so much_ in my _whole life!_ ” the child insisted tearfully, pulling the arm back when Anders was done, and rubbing the healed skin. His face was round and soft, but red from crying, and his bottom lip stuck out in a dramatic pout.

Anders smiled, and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, squatting to meet him at eye level. “I know,” he empathized, trying to ignore the ache in his own legs which was flaring up. He had barely sat down more than twice in over a day, and had not slept a wink. It was finally getting to him. His body was practically vibrating with the tension. “And I know it sucks. But I hope it hurts a little less now.” The kid nodded sadly. “Try not to wander off from your mother next time, alright?”

“Yes, ser,” the boy moped. Anders chuckled, and ruffled his mop of red hair.

“That’s a good boy,” he said gently, and as he said it, there was a disturbing echo in his mind that made him tense. The boy looked up at him with a wide grin, littered with gaps. He looked in complete awe of the healer, and Anders felt touched. “Alright, go on. Your mother should be outside.”

“Yes, ser!” he squeaked again, and off he ran.

Anders watched him go, brushing up against the leg of a woman as he went. Anders stood upright again, trying not to wince as he smiled at his approaching friend, and opened his arms wide as she drew nearer. “Hawke!”

“Anders!” The other mage ran to him, and threw her arms around his neck. Smirking, he spun her briefly in the air, then set her down again. “How’s my best friend in all the world?”

From behind her, Merrill squeaked. “I thought I was your best friend in all the world!”

Hawke reached out to her, and the elf placed her hand in hers, and Hawke kissed it. “I love you, Merrill. You will always be my best _everything_.”

Merrill giggled, the blush creeping all the way up to the roots of her dark hair.

There had been a brief time when Anders had thought that he and Hawke might have had something, but it could never have been. Her outlook on demons and blood magic were far more liberal than his, and she had expressed early on that she was gaining feelings for the Dalish blood mage. He’d never had a chance, and he was alright with that. His heart had been too fragile after what had happened with Karl, anyway.

“So, Anders, I’m here because I’m actually headed to Sundermount in the afternoon. I hoped you’d join us!”

“Us?” He snorted, glancing from Hawke to the Dalish elf at her side. “A party of three mages? That doesn’t sound… risky to you?”

Merrill shook her head. “Don’t be silly,” she said, her voice growing rather dark. “I don’t exactly look forward to going back to Sundermount anytime soon, so I won’t be coming.” She looked mournful. “Varric and Fenris will be going. I dunno where they got off to, but...”

His heart sank at the sound of the elf’s name.

Anders had woken two mornings ago, naked and sprawled out beside an equally bare Fenris. His face had been buried in an unfamiliar pillow, and his fingers lightly touching the elf’s arm. Upon waking, he’d jerked his hand away in surprise, his gut clenching in horror as reality struck him. He’d slipped silently out of the bed, leaving the unconscious elf without a word, his ass badly bruised and his head pounding with confusion. It was the last time he’d seen the elf, and only a day and a half had passed since. He wasn’t sure how easily he could face him yet after their unspeakably intense encounter.

He didn’t regret it - for it had certainly been enjoyable - but it was hardly simple or easy to process. Some small part of him insisted that it had been a mistake, and every ounce of his logic told him to avoid seeing Fenris again entirely - but his body could not see it that way, and he still could not bring himself to heal the wounds the warrior had inflicted.

A night of delicious pain. It’s all he’d wanted. One quick indulgence of his disturbed sexual needs; one night of fun to help them both get off. But Fenris had a way about him. He could make Anders cower, curdle his blood with terror, provoke Justice to threaten his way out - and, Maker forgive him, he could make Anders come with an unparalleled vengeance. Afterwards, he’d all but begged the elf for a repeat performance, yet Fenris had not responded.

“ _It’s for the best that he didn’t,_ ” came a nagging voice in his ear. “ _What happened should not happen again. It is a dangerous distraction from our goal._ ”

It was a chiding hiss, not unlike his conscious, but its origin was clear. He rolled his eyes, and silently told Justice to leave this one alone. This was _his_ bad decision making, and he wanted to be left to it -  _without_ the spirit’s guidance.

“We’re just passing through to invite you along,” Hawke told him. “We’ll be at the Hanged Man for the rest of the morning until we leave. Meet us there?”

Anders wrenched his face into a smile, and hoped it looked genuine. “Wouldn’t miss it,” he rasped.

“Oh, excellent!” Hawke was practically bouncing on her heels. “We’re gonna clear out a cave that I heard is apparently full of raiders. Can’t wait, yeah?”

Nodding stiffly, Anders smiled. “Sounds good,” he told her.

He watched as she kissed her girlfriend’s hand and made her way to the door again, leaving the mage to his patients.

There were not many to be seen that morning. He put the ‘closing’ sign on the door early so that people would know he’d be gone for the day, and slowly over the next few hours, his clients drifted out.

He was alone.

Shutting the door to the clinic and double checking the lock, he retreated to the back room where he usually slept - though he hadn’t done so since his night with Fenris. His heart was thumping in his throat, making him feel sick with nerves, and at the same time, he felt a deep sorrow in the pit of his stomach that he could not explain.

He found himself in front of his cracked mirror, staring blankly at his own face. He looked tired, and his brow was furrowed as he wore his worry for all to see. He cleared his throat, and shook his head, straightening out his expression in an attempt to look unconcerned.

Breathing deep, Anders turned his hips, and put a hand on the curve of his backside. The flesh was still tender, and ached when he pressed down. Hoisting up his robes and bunching them around his waist as he yanked his smallclothes down slightly, he felt his breathing hitch. His pale skin had turned mostly green, speckled with stripes of blue and purple where the cane had struck him. His heart-rate skyrocketed at the sight, and he felt the faintest tickle in his lower belly. He whistled, low and somber as he traced one of the fading welts. He _could_ have healed these bruises the moment he’d returned to his clinic after their night together - but he didn’t want to. It felt too good to have his masochistic urges indulged, and he couldn’t say when he’d next have the chance to be hurt this way again.

So with a deep sigh, he pulled up his smallclothes and let his robes fall again so that he could prepare for the trip that lay ahead.

* * *

 

“Anders!”

He glanced around, his eyes narrowed through the smoky air of the pub, until he spotted them. Hawke had her arm around Merrill, who was waving him over. Beside them, Varric was sharing a glass with -

Anders swallowed hard, and forced his expression impassive. Fenris did not look up as he approached. He did not seem to realize he was there as he chatted quietly with the dwarf, until Anders cleared his throat, announcing his presence.

The elf looked up, and blinked stoically. The ghost of their night together was tingling on Anders’ skin, throbbing where he was still badly bruised, but he refused to react to it.

“Anders!” Merrill squealed again. “Pull a chair over!”

“I, er - ” Anders smiled and glanced back to the door. Sitting did not sound like a great idea at the moment. “I thought we were going to Sundermount,” he said with a small awkward laugh. The awful energy in his veins was screaming. He wanted chaos, and was eager to get going.

Hawke shrugged. “Yeah, but these idiots have to finish their drinks first,” she said, jabbing a thumb into Varric’s shoulder. He swatted her hand away without looking at her, continuing his talk with Fenris as a faint smirk playing across his face. “So have a seat with us for a few minutes,” she said finally, gesturing around. “Snag one from another table or something.”

“Oh,” he stuttered. “I… er…” His ass was throbbing. He had only sat once or twice in the last day, and felt determined to avoid doing so again. He fidgeted with his staff over his shoulder, and cleared his throat. “I’m…. alright, really. I’ll just stand.”

Merrill stood suddenly, and Hawke pouted indignantly as the elf slipped from under her arm. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Have mine, if you like. I’ll find another.”

Anders could feel the heat rising in his face. “Oh, no, Merrill. Seriously. I’m fine. You sit.”

Fenris snorted loudly at this, but Anders refused to look at him.

“I insist!” Merrill squeaked, smiling so warmly that he felt suddenly wracked with guilt. “We’ll be here for a little while longer, and there’s no need for you to be uncomfortable.” She pushed her chair towards him, and scurried off to fetch herself another seat from a table across the pub.

He looked guiltily down at the seat, and sighed, hesitating while Merrill approached again with her new chair. She pulled the seat up, and sat beside her girlfriend once more.

Fenris chuckled darkly. This time Anders looked up at him, glaring. “Don’t be rude to the tiny polite blood mage,” sneered the elf, his eyes flicking knowingly up and down Anders’ figure. “ _Sit._ ”

It was a clear, firm demand, and before he could even think consciously, Anders obeyed.

He winced significantly as his bruises seared at the contact. Fenris’ smirk was so tangible, Anders could practically taste it in the air between them. He looked up at him again, and as they eyes met, all the air left Anders’ lungs. All it took was one night - one _stupid_ night - and now his veins thrummed with the aching desire to obey. It didn’t help that they now sat at the same table where he’d impulsively propositioned the elf in the first place. He felt pathetic just thinking about it. Blushing like an idiot, he wrenched his gaze away again.

Instead, he let his eyes fall to Hawke, who was glaring at him. “What’s up with you?” she asked, sounding suspicious.

His heart missed a beat. “What do you mean? Nothing!" he sputtered quickly. "I’m fine.”

She gave him an overemphasized nod that told him quite plainly she did not believe him. “Sure,” she said, her face breaking out into an amused smirk, and winked.

He rolled his eyes. Merrill was looking confused, but Varric was grinning. “She’s right. You don’t look so good, Blondie,” he laughed.

“I’m _fine,_ ” he insisted firmly again, raising his voice. Varric put up his hands in surrender, but continued to chuckle quietly. Hawke snorted, shook her head, and turned back to Merrill.

Fenris’ lip remained curled in amusement, and Anders could not help but meet his eye again. He needed no words to convey his power, and the mage felt his blood run cold under that domineering gaze. He experienced a flash of sensational memories - Fenris’ warm, wet cock in his throat; the strangely pleasant ooze of his come dripping down the backs of his legs; his lips, surprisingly soft and supple against his own; the taste of his breath.

It wasn’t fair, Anders thought furiously, clearing his throat and looking away again. He couldn’t see why magic was under such scrutiny when there were unbearable creatures like Fenris running amok - with that strong jaw, those fierce eyes, and a bloodthirsty stare that could bring down the toughest of men. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t just.

Varric was still chuckling lightly as he brought his mug to his lips and tipped it back to down the drink - but Fenris put a hand on his arm. The dwarf looked at him curiously. Fenris smiled, looking smug. “Take your time, dwarf,” he said casually with a shrug. “No reason to rush out of here.” The elf turned his eyes back on Anders, grinning sadistically, but the mage ignored him. He stared fixedly at Hawke, determined not to react to the pain he was experiencing, or to the gut-wrenching smile turned his way.

To Anders’ great relief, however, they did eventually finish their drinks, and when Hawke finally stretched and stood, Anders followed her lead a little too eagerly. She shook her head at him as the rest of them gathered themselves together.

Out on the street, Anders found himself shoulder to shoulder with Fenris again while Hawke kissed Merrill goodbye. They didn’t look at each other, but the space between them seemed to hum with tension. A minute later, Hawke took Anders by the elbow, and marched ahead of the others, dragging him along with her as they started off.

“Alright,” she said quietly, her brow raised knowingly. “Don’t think I didn’t see how weird you were acting in there, my friend.”

Anders laughed. “What do you mean?”

“Refusing to sit? Wincing so much when you finally did? I’m not exactly a prude, y’know. I know what that means.”

He scoffed, shaking his head and blushing slightly. “Really, Hawke? What is it you think you know?”

“Someone’s been spanking you, haven’t they?” She poked him hard on the shoulder, glaring up at him with a mischievous glint in her eye and a knowing smirk. He wished she wouldn’t look at him that way, as though she could see right through him.

“I… well, I…”

“Why are you so afraid to tell me?” Hawke frowned, then leaned her head against his shoulder. “It’s only me, after all. I told you when I started banging Merrill, didn’t I?”

Anders cringed and muttered “Oh, sweet Maker, don’t say it like that,” but nodded.

“Don’t you know I’d be overjoyed to hear you’re getting laid?” she said earnestly. “You deserve it, Anders. You’ve been so melancholy lately. I really want you to have some joy in your life, and sex - well, that’s a joy if ever there was one, is it not?” She chuckled.

“Ha.” Anders wasn’t sure how to respond to this, but when he opened his mouth, his instinct spewed honesty. “Well… it was just one night,” he admitted. “There isn’t much to tell.”

“A one-night-stand?” Hawke sniggered. “I get it. Whoever it was, they seem to have gotten you pretty good, though, hm?”

Anders could feel the blush creeping up his neck, coloring his face against his will. He rubbed the  back of his neck with the hand not otherwise trapped by his friend. “He sure did, at that,” he mumbled.

“Oh, a _he_ , was it?” Hawke’s smirk was widening by the second. “Oh, you’re killing me here, Anders. Tell me who it was!”

“I…” He laughed genuinely. “I can’t,” he said. Then, thinking on his feet, he affixed to this a defensive lie. “I don’t remember his name.”

Hawke swatted his arm as they walked, shaking her head. “A one-night-stand, _and_ you don’t know his name? Naughty boy, Anders!” She winked.

Groaning, Anders ignored her, knowing that her laughter was surely carrying back to the others, and not wanting the subject to be raised with them. “Please, let’s stop talking about this,” he grumbled. Fenris’ eyes were burning holes on the back on his neck.  “Please.”

She laughed. “Fine, fine,” she huffed. “Have you been sleeping, at least?”

Anders felt her grip tighten on his arm. Her concern and care was deeply touching. “No,” he admitted. His eyes itched painfully with exhaustion even as they spoke.

Hawke did not respond to this. She merely leaned her head lovingly on his shoulder with a sigh, and they walked like this for some time. As they approached the city limits, Anders felt he had never appreciated a friendship so much in his life.

* * *

 

The walk to Sundermount was bracing, and wiped his mind clean of tainted thoughts. Anders found his mind wandering instead to the Chantry. He bit his lip and furrowed his brow as they trudged up the mountain, considering ways he might be able to sneak into the Chantry and accomplish his ultimate goal. He could potentially ask Hawke, but -

With a beat of his heart, he knew Justice agreed. “Not now,” he thought. “We can think of this later.” He swallowed back the thoughts, and brought himself back to reality.

Shadows had grown long around them. Anders glanced at the sky, and grimaced. “Hawke,” he called. She turned, but kept walking backwards. “It’s going to be dark soon.”

“I know,” she said throwing her gaze skyward and squinting against the evening sunlight. “We’ll stop soon to camp, and finish the hike in the morning, yeah?”

Anders nodded. Varric called, “You got it, Hawke,” but Fenris did not respond.

By the time they stopped, the sky was a deep violet, and where it met the horizon, everything had become painted with a vivid orange glow. Anders watched the sun vanish entirely, basking in the night’s natural eerie magic.

“Distracted, are you?” It was the first time Fenris had spoken to Anders directly since telling him to sit back in the Hanged Man, and it made Anders’ heart race.

“I won’t apologize for admiring beauty,” he snapped. “Not that you know the meaning of the word.”

Fenris sneered haughtily, and Anders’ stomach turned. Then, without warning, the elf tossed something at him. He caught it, stumbling backwards slightly, and swore. “Your bedroll,” Fenris explained.

Anders looked around. Indeed, the others had already rolled theirs out. Annoyance swept over him as he realized how distant his overactive mind was; he was so lost in his own world, time was passing him by without him even being present for it.

Grumbling irritably, he undid the tie on his roll, and laid it out. He flopped onto it on his hands and knees, then lowered his stomach down slowly, his ass still burning.

Varric sat on his own spread beside him, and raised his eyebrows. “You alright there, Blondie?”

“I’m fine,” Anders lied.

On his other side, Fenris had sat as well, cross-legged. He was holding his ankles, stretching his feet out, and Anders remembered in a flash how surprisingly soft his feet were. He looked away, but the elf was smirking still. “You don’t seem particularly fine today,” he said nonchalantly.

“I’m fine,” he repeated.

Varric sighed, and clapped his hands together. “So… smothered in fire ants?” He was grinning hopefully.

Anders shrugged. “I like it,” he said with a small smile. “How about....nailed to the ground in Darktown and covered in meat?”

“I don’t get it,” Varric chuckled.

Breaking into a sly grin, Anders explained, “Think of all the homeless starving cats who would enjoy a grand meal and then… go a little too far.”

The dwarf grimaced, still laughing. “Maker, Blondie. That’s a good one.”

Sunlight dwindled. Anders’ hipbones were protesting this position, but he refused to move. Their game went on, though Anders was only half invested in it. Hawke had joined in, her bedroll stretched longways so that all of their heads faced her where she lay. More than once, Varric tried to get suggestions from Fenris, but the elf merely grunted, called them all morons, and rolled over to ignore them for the rest of the night.

Anders couldn’t say how he managed to successfully forget about Fenris’ proximity as his exhaustion grew, even when he was the last one left awake. Yet, instead of his bruises lingering in the forefront of his mind, it was Justice who reigned while his companions snored.

His mind raced. He hated this feeling - the violent rumbling energy, the thoughts too fast to keep up with - but Justice thrived this way. His buzzing energy and impulsiveness were fuel for Justice’s fire, and it made him nearly unstoppable. His heart sank as he remembered the mage he’d almost murdered in his impulsive haste, when Justice had taken him over for a moment. It haunted him every night. He felt out of control, and on the very edge of a breakdown.

But it could not be helped. If he had to fall apart to accomplish what was necessary, then so be it. He could take that fall, if justice prevailed.

Unfortunately, by the time sleep began to cloud his eyes, the sky was already brightening. He managed barely over an hour of unconsciousness before Hawke shook him awake, and he groaned angrily at her, swatting her hands away while she called his name.

“We’re going, Anders. If we start off now, we can find that cave and kill the fuck out of those raiders before mid-afternoon, and be back in Kirkwall by evening.”

Anders whimpered unhappily, and buried his face in his hands. “No,” he moaned. “I’m so tired.” His eyes were aching, and his head pounding, no matter how much energy he had.

Then, something heavy pressed down upon his backside, and he yelped as his bruises seared in pain. “Andraste’s flaming ass!” he roared. “What - ?”

He looked around wildly for the source of the offense. Fenris’ toes were digging against his battered skin, and Anders glared at him. Fenris shrugged, looking deeply self-satisfied. “That certainly woke you up, didn’t it?”

Hawke patted Fenris on the shoulder as she passed, smirking and shaking her head in amusement. “Be nice,” she chuckled to him, and the elf scowled, crossing his arms over his armored chest and letting his foot fall back into place.

As Anders dragged himself to his feet and brushed himself off, he opened his mouth to snap at Fenris - but stopped. To his great surprise, the warrior stooped, and retrieved Anders’ bedroll for him. Anders’ head was abuzz with confusion and disbelief, watching Fenris roll it up for him. “Er… thank you?” Fenris shrugged, tying the roll in place and handing it to him. Anders took it, feeling overwhelmed. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Fenris. “What’s this about, elf?”

Running a hand through his mop of white hair, Fenris looked contemplative for a moment, his lip curled in disgust. Then, after a pause, he said, “Sometimes it just feels good to help out the utterly pitiful, doesn’t it?” He flashed the mage a sly grin, but could not hide the way his eyes flicked down to the curve of Anders’ hips.

He was sure he should have been angry at this, but instead he snorted, grabbing his staff from the dirt and ensuring that Fenris had an excellent view of his robes stretching across his backside as he bent at the waist. “Fenris,” he sighed, straightening up again. “You really are a disturbed man, y’know.”

Fenris glared at him. “You should talk,” he snapped, and Anders couldn’t help but grin at this. Both men were smirking now, but avoided each other’s eyes while they gathered themselves together. When Hawke finally snapped at them to hurry up, they went right back to ignoring each other.

The mage fell behind the other three as they walked, and for a while he listened to Fenris and Hawke bicker, but eventually his eyes fell on the line where Fenris’ ass met the tops of his legs, and he lost all concentration.

Anders cursed himself silently, and looked away. His bones felt heavy with shame and disgust as he walked, but his bruises were haunting him still like an angry vengeful spirit of masochism - and it was delicious.

* * *

The cave was torch-lit when they found it, and Hawke laughed loudly when they entered, interrupting the group of raiders as they packed up a number of boxes. They all turned to look for the source of the unfamiliar sound, their expressions bewildered, and Hawke only laughed harder. "Oh!" she tittered. "Were we interrupting?"

_"Get them!"_

The rush of violence gave Anders a mad high. It almost matched in intensity the sensation of Fenris’ leather biting into his flesh, or the elf’s cold heel on his scalp, pressing his face to the ground in a deep bow. _Almost_.

A blast of cold shot from his palm, encasing his target in a coat of ice just as the man had raised a sword to his throat. He backed away, still firing small bursts of energy, hoping to shatter his offender, but before he could, A massive blade sliced through the frozen figure, and it crumbled in a mass of frozen blood and bone. Fenris appeared where the man's pieces fell away, leering at him through the haze of blood. Anders rolled his eyes, and turned away just as a raider shot an arrow at him.

With a roar, he sent a fireball at the man who’d wounded him, gritting his teeth against the pain in his shoulder as the bolter went up in flames. The man shrieked in agony, his limbs disintegrating rapidly into ash.

Anders slid the arrow through his shoulder using magic, and cringed as it emerged behind him with a sickening squelch. The blood running down his torso was warm, and he felt weak. He raised his arm to heal the wound, already feeling his skin hum with the healing magic, but his vision was blurring. Confusion swept over him, but moments later, he felt the pounding on the inside of his skull that indicated Justice’s takeover. He panted shakily, held his tired head in his hands, and sighed in relief. It was with gratitude that he waded into the bizarre calm and white noise that came with possession.

A split second later, he was gone.

* * *

"Anders...  _Anders!_ " Hawke’s voice broke into him. The sound of her, strangely tinny and distant, pierced the shell beneath which he was trapped. He gasped as his consciousness lurched forward. It was painful. The air hit his lungs hard, cold and unfamiliar, like the first breath after almost drowning.

He looked around, blinking back the blind rage Justice had left in his wake. Mangled corpses were everywhere. His robes were scarlet. His three companions were staring at him warily. "I... I'm sorry," he breathed, rubbing the back of his sore neck.

"Justice is coming out more and more often," Hawke pointed out, looking worried.

"I know."

Fenris sniggered. "Remind me… what was that thing you said once?"

Anders' stomach turned. "We've been over this before, Fenris. I said not to go there."

"Oh _that's_ right!" The elf feigned an epiphany, and Anders felt his stomach sink. "You said you could _control it_. Ha! Yes, _that_ was it." Then he laughed. "How's that working out for you, abomination? Hm?"

"I _am_ in control," Anders insisted quietly, but he was doubting it more with every day that passed. " _I am._ "

"Peh!" Fenris snorted. "I'm sure." It was thick with sarcasm.

"Maker, do you _ever_ shut up, elf," Anders hissed. The rage was causing him to shake. He felt helpless, and worried he might physically lash out at the warrior.

"Oh, I could certainly _make you_ shut up, abomination," the warrior growled, a deep rumble that Anders felt in the pit of his chest. He took a step forward, his fists clenched and his flesh glowing brightly with lyrium.

His heart tightened. He shook his head minutely, quietly warning Fenris not to touch that part of him. The elf knew where his weaknesses were now. It was an unfair advantage.

"Alright," Hawke said quickly, jumping in. "Fenris I know you have your reasons to doubt, but I'm trusting in Anders abilities, okay?" She held her hands up between them. The air seemed to crackle with their fury, but with her intervention, a strange hush fell around them. Fenris looked disgusted by the entire ordeal.

Anders nodded. "Thank you, Hawke."

"Ridiculous," Fenris grumbled.

Varric had been silent until now. "Elf," he said soothingly, taking Fenris by the arm. "Let's get a head start on the walk back, yeah?" Patting him on his gauntlet gently, the dwarf led Fenris from the hideout calmly and quietly. The elf’s markings finally dulled just before they stepped out of sight.

This left Anders alone with Hawke, feeling terribly embarrassed. She cleared her throat, looking down at her feet and fidgeting. "You... are alright, aren't you? You do have... control over yourself, yes?"

He sniffed defensively. "Of course," he insisted, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.

With a nod, Hawke clapped him on the shoulder. "Right," she said, smiling warmly. "Then I trust you."

He was touched, yet a large part of him worried that his friend's trust was misplaced. "Thank you," he said again. "You are a better friend than I deserve."

She ignored this, her face going flush. "So let's get a move on, shall we?"

At this, they exited the cavern to find that Fenris and Varric had gone ahead without them. Following their friends' footsteps in the dirt, the two mages began the long hike back to Kirkwall in total silence.

* * *

Audio version of this chapter can be listened to and downloaded from [**HERE**](http://tindeck.com/listen/dmbgm)! 


	2. Shadows and Monsters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS for nonsexual beginnings of D/s negotiation, brief face slapping, and descriptions of paranoia and possible psychosis in mania.

Anders paced. His skin was crawling.

He couldn’t say how long he’d been back in his clinic, but it felt like days. Time was so slow. So _fucking_ slow. Too slow for him to keep track of.

“ _Anders_ ,” Hawke had said gently before they parted ways. “ _Please take care of yourself this evening. Please sleep._ ”

“ _I will,_ ” he’d promised, but as his windows darkened, keeping such a promise was seeming less and less likely.

He grumbled, swearing to himself, his hands twitching in his hair and his eyes darting around the clinic warily. He felt strangely exposed, as though somehow all of Kirkwall knew where he was, what he was doing, and what Justice and he were planning. Surely they knew. Surely at least one of them would run straight to Meredith. Perhaps they were informing her _right now_.

He needed to pack. He needed to get out of here.

His breathing was shallow. He was making himself light-headed, and it was just making things worse. As he spun to march into his back room and gather his belongings, he rammed his palms hard into his forehead, slapping his head to shut off the paranoid voice.

It was at that moment that someone cleared their throat from the doorway to his clinic. He came to a terrified halt, his heart racing and his mind overflowing with paranoid energy. The fear that the Templars had found him was very real, and his chest was weighing him down.

Slowly, he turned back towards the entrance, preparing for the worst.

It was not a Templar, but still his heart flew to his throat, his pulse strong there, making him dizzy. “Fenris." His voice was a little shrill. “Why am I not even surprised?”

“Abomination,” the elf addressed him curtly, his hands knitted behind his back and his expression stony. "You have been acting strangely," he stated bluntly, his eyes boring into Anders like the lyrium he was laced with.

"Have I?" Anders' teeth were gritted. His hands shook.

Fenris’s mouth twisted, glaring harshly. “I just caught you pacing and muttering to yourself. What do you think?" Anders had no response. "You certainly seem... on edge, at least.” He shrugged. “So…” He licked his lips awkwardly, still as a statue otherwise, as though frozen by magic. “How bruised are you, then?”

Anders rolled his eyes, thoroughly irked that the elf could ask him this so casually. He’d known this interaction would happen sooner or later, though he'd rather hoped it would be later. His face bloomed pink, and he looked away, busying himself folding blankets on the nearest cot to avoid having to stand aimlessly and feel scrutinized. “Very,” he snapped. “Are you happy now? Is that why you're here? Can you go away now?”

He didn’t need to look at Fenris to know that he was smirking to himself. “Tell me, mage, is there some reason why you did not heal yourself after our night together?”

His heart missed a beat. He should have expected Fenris to think of that, yet he had not. He cringed. Humiliation was crawling in his marrow, and he felt brittle. “I… like how it feels,” he admitted stiffly.

Fenris snorted. “Of course you do.” He sounded self satisfied.

“Why are you here, Fenris?” Anders shook his head in exasperation, his back still turned on the elf. He could hear Fenris shift his weight where he stood.

“You have something of mine,” he stated plainly.

At this, Anders turned. He was genuinely confused. “What?”

The elf raised his dark eyebrows expectantly. “You left without returning it, and it's mine.”

“What?” Anders asked again, still bewildered.

Fenris rolled his eyes. “You really are an idiot,” he spat. He took a step forward, and Anders felt his chest tighten, his pulse beating hard in his throat. Stopping only a foot from the mage, he looked up at him, scowling. “The collar,” he explained finally in a low whisper.

Something twisted in Anders’ gut. “Oh." He had forgotten it. "Right,” he mumbled. “Pitiful excuse to come torment me, but alright. It’s in the back.”

Fenris followed him without asking if he could, and leaned on the door frame once Anders had slipped into his closet-sized back room - barely large enough for the cot and table he'd somehow stuffed in there. Anders shifted so that Fenris could not see him retrieving it from where he’d stashed it carefully under his pillow. He’d hated taking it off. He’d felt safe when he was wearing it - bridled, for once.

He tossed it into Fenris’ arms, trying not to betray the lump in his throat as he grunted, “Here. Take it.” Fenris caught it. He expected the elf to leave, but he did not. Instead, Fenris continued to lean nonchalantly in the doorway, examining the collar thoughtfully. He was feeling the leather between his fingers, tracing the silver buckle with one clawed fingertip.

“It looked good on you.”

Anders froze, and twisted a finger into his ear, certain he had not heard correctly due to a lack of sleep. “I’m sorry - what did you say?”

Fenris tutted angrily. “I'm sure you heard me correctly, abomination,” he growled.

He remembered his drunken impulse from the other night, and felt its echo in his head. He grinned smugly. “You really enjoyed that night,” he teased.

Fenris prickled, and shrugged. “It was… _fine,_ " he spat. "I was angry, and you were… helpful for that.”

Anders snorted, fidgeting with the sleeve of his robes, still feeling jittery. “Helpful, was I?”

“Besides,” the warrior went on, ignoring him. “It’s hardly unenjoyable to see you put in your place.” The smirk in his tone caused Anders to flush madly. When they met eyes however, Anders gulped - for Fenris was glaring knives at him. “I can't imagine how you can possibly still think you’re in control of yourself.”

He groaned, rubbing his hands together in agitation. “Andraste's knickers, not this again.”

“It’s not an issue that just disappears, mage.”

“I know,” he snarled, “but _please_. Please, just… leave it, alright?” Anders was angry. Or was it Justice's fury bleeding into his anxiety? It was hard to say. “I’ve got it under control. So just… stop.”

“Frequently vanishing while a demon takes you over?" The warrior huffed. "Oh yes. _Completely_ in control, I see." Then he pushed himself up from the doorframe, shaking his head and looking Anders up and down. "You're a wreck. Look at yourself. Blatantly losing yourself out in the field. Not sleeping, Hawke tells me, and the dark circles are not exactly hard to spot. Then I find you here pacing like a lunatic, _hitting_ yourself, like you can't even control your own thoughts."

Anders swallowed. "You're wrong." But his tone wavered.

"You're _lying_."

He pursed his lips. "It's none of your business," he snapped, bristling at how easily the elf could read him.

"No, it isn't," he agreed. Anders nodded once, appreciatively. "Yet... it was none of your business what I've been through in my past. And still you pried."

Anders felt his stomach flip. "I did not pry," he sighed. "It just all fell out into the open under the influence of alcohol and... weird, disturbed frustrations."

Fenris sneered. "It would never have come up had you not been an insensitive prick about Danarius, and you cannot deny that."

"Oh come off it," Anders groaned irritably. "What does it matter? I know all your shit now, and now I can be more sensitive."

"Maker, will you shut up? I am not here to talk about me," Fenris rumbled gruffly. "I'm here to talk about your inability to remain in control." Anders threw up his hands in exasperation, furious about the elf's incapacity to hear him out. "This is not even about _my_ concern, mage. _Hawke_ is worried about you. So I told her you owed me money and would check on you while I collected. She told me to... _'play nice._ '" He scoffed.

Anders swore under his breath. "Maker, has _everyone_ lost faith in me?" His heart was sinking.

"If they have - can you really blame them, mage? You are an abomination who thinks he is in control despite all evidence to the contrary. Surely even you can see how your hold is slipping. You can't _possibly_ be that blind. Or - maybe you can," he smirked. "Perhaps I shouldn't put that past you."

"Stop," Anders muttered coldly. His hands were on his head again, as though holding back some invisible tide there. " _Please_ stop."

Fenris stepped towards him. "You _never were_ in control," he hissed. Anders shook his head. There were tears in his eyes but he clenched them shut, refusing to cry now. "It's about time you came to accept that, you pathetic _monster_." Then Anders felt a faint touch on his face. He opened his eyes. Fenris was brushing hair away from his eyes, tucking it behind his ear. Anders searched his face, confused by the tenderness contrasting his violent words.

The elf was stoic as he drew a slow breath and began, "The other night? Was my control over you... satisfying?"

"What do you mean?" he whispered.

Fenris pursed his lips for a brief moment. He appeared to be thinking hard. "You have never been in control here," Fenris said again, speaking slowly. "Not in control of this demon... and not of yourself."  The corners of his lips twitched ever so slightly. "Yet you gave control to me rather willingly the other night." Anders gulped. His heart was hammering ferociously in his ears, beating a painful rhythm against his temples. "So tell me, abomination. Did that help you?"

Anders raised his eyebrows suspiciously. "I'm fairly certain I offered my submission in order to help _you_ , Fenris” he reminded him.

Fenris’ lip curled. “Yes, but you _did_ offer it. You would not do that if you did not crave someone else's power. And you admitted to me in no uncertain terms that it is… 'just how you like it.' How you’ve _always_ liked it, you said.”

It was all true. Anders did not respond. He simply blinked, feeling strange with the elf so close to him.

“I wondered - ” and Fenris looked like he’d just swallowed something prickly that was going down the wrong way as he went on, “ - if, perhaps, I might... return the favor.”

Cold shock trickled through him. “Are you serious?” His face contorted, disbelieving.

“You are out of control,” Fenris growled, his eyes dark and cautioning. “I could control you. At least a little. If it would help. If it might make you… safer.” He was glaring at the mage as though he were no better than mud - mud that he wanted to scrape into a jar to examine later, perhaps. It made Anders’ insides ache. He shivered.

“I…” He cleared his throat. “I thought… you wouldn’t want to…”

“Well I’m here, aren’t I?” Fenris grumbled. “Do not think so much, it is clearly not your strong point." Anders tutted in annoyance. "Just answer me this: do you, or do you not, want my control?”

Anders opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He wasn’t even sure he had any response prepared, and wished his mouth would stop trying to work ahead of his brain. He closed it again, and thought quickly. But then: _Don’t you dare_ , Justice chided. _He will distract you. Your bodily pleasures pale in comparison to what we are destined for - to what we are going to accomplish, and that is all that matters_. Yet with Justice nagging at the back of his mind, screaming over his own thoughts in this situation, he felt more out of control than he had all day. He shut his eyes, curling his hands into his hair again as he scrunched up his face against the chaos in his head, and did as Fenris had suggested:

He stopped thinking.

“ _Yes_ ,” he said firmly. “I… yes.”

Fenris’ mouth twisted into a smirk that did not quite touch the rest of his face, though his green eyes glistened hungrily. He took a step back, looking up and down the length of the mage. “If I am to control you,” he said quietly (and those words alone were enough to hush Anders’ mind), “then I will need guidelines from you.”

“Guidelines?” Anders choked. He felt dizzy. Oh, Maker, he could not believe he was doing this again.

“Things that will be too much for you. Things that you cannot stand. Believe me, I still want to hurt you and punish you for everything - but I want to keep you controlled. If I go too far, then that will break my control, and not be good for either of us.”

Anders laughed hollowly. “You’ve been thinking about this a lot, haven’t you?”

Fenris shrugged, and Anders was surprised to see a scarlet tinge sweep up the tips of his ears as he glanced away. “When I woke yesterday morning - I felt… _uncomfortable_ … with the fact that I had beaten you without setting clear lines first. I think…" He swallowed hard. "I think it’s why I softened as we finished.” Anders sucked in his lips, trying not to smile as the memory of Fenris kissing him swam to the front of his mind. “Without more consent… I am nothing but a shadow of Danarius; a reflection of everything he is and everything he made of me, and I… do not want to become that.” He shook his head at the ground, looking disgusted. “I want to take what he left on me and _twist it_  for  my own purposes so that it does not hurt, yet I do not wish to trap another in a situation anything like the life I lived.” His voice cracked. “Nobody deserves that.”

Silence followed this, and Fenris looked deeply irritated by it until finally, Anders said, “I… well… that’s nice of you, I guess.” Then he paused, feeling a little uncomfortable. Once again, things had become weirdly intimate with a man he hated, but still he wanted it. The problem was, he didn’t really know where to start.

“Lock your door,” Fenris told him suddenly. Anders stared at him, hesitating. “Do not fear, mage. I will not hurt you tonight, and I cannot stay. Just do as I instruct, and lock your door.” He spoke with a frankness that told Anders plainly that he was already in control. Anders went immediately, moving numbly to the front of his clinic without even willing himself to do so. He locked the door after double checking his ‘closed’ sign was posted properly, and walked back to Fenris feeling weak, like all his limbs had become jelly.

Fenris did not smile as he approached. Instead, he moved further into Anders’ tiny room, and sat on the edge of his cot. Anders came to halt in front of him, looking down at the elf feeling a little confused. Then -

“Kneel,” Fenris commanded. Anders felt himself go blissfully blank as he obeyed, and slumped to his knees. “Have you forgotten already, boy? What do you say?”

He swallowed. This felt so good. He had almost forgotten how good he _could_ feel, in all the chaos of his mind in the last couple of days. “Yes, Master,” he breathed.

“Good.” Fenris reached out, and touched his face. He nuzzled into the contact, so grateful to be treated this way.  
  
“Come closer, slave.” Anders scootched towards him on his knees. Graciously, Fenris opened his legs and pulled the mage between his thighs. “Remove my gauntlets,” he said gently, presenting Anders with his arms.

“Yes, Master,” Anders whispered shakily, and with trembling fingers he began to work at the clasps.

As he took his time removing the armor from Fenris’ hands and forearms, the elf spoke softly to him. “Tomorrow,” he said, “I want you to come to me at the mansion, if you really do want this. You will have a list of things you do not want me to do to you, and we will discuss them. Beyond that, you will obey me, and you will follow any rule I set, without question. Is that understood, mage?”

Anders nodded weakly, barely thinking as he did. Fenris’ voice seemed distant, as though he were speaking from the fade and not inches away from him.

“Good boy.”

The second gauntlet fell away, and Fenris flexed his tattooed fists. The collar, which he had placed on the bed beside him, was back in his hands a moment later, and Anders held his breath as the leather was slipped around his throat again.

As soon as the buckle had been tightened, his hands were in his hair. It was so warm and soft that Anders’ lips fell open in surprise. His eyes fluttered closed. The gentleness with which Fenris’ fingers trailed his scalp was decadent and shocking, and sent a trickling calm through his system. “Thank you, Master,” he muttered.

“Good,” Fenris said again, stroking him the way he used to pet Ser Pounce-A-Lot. And, like his old loyal cat, Anders found himself leaning into the caress. He would not have been surprised to suddenly begin purring.

“Are you in control of yourself?” Fenris asked, his voice becoming slightly firm again.

Not really paying attention, Anders nodded dazedly.

A sharp slap to his face made him yelp. His heart leapt at the sting, and he was panting now as he looked fearfully up at the warrior.

“Are you in control of yourself?” he repeated.

This time, Anders understood what was wanted of him. He licked his lips, eyes burning with the threat of tears as he shook his head. “ _No_ ,” he rasped, and it hurt to admit it. “No, Master... I’m not.”

Fenris grinned. It was cold, but strangely comforting; powerful, compelling, trustworthy. “That’s right,” he praised. “Who _is_ in control of you?”

Anders swallowed. He still could not believe he was doing this - _again_ \- but it felt too good. It was too comforting to deny, and his overwhelming consciousness _demanded_ it. “You, Master.” He remembered how Fenris loved it when he was explicit, and went a step further. “ _You_ control me now, Master. You are the _only_ one in control.”

Fenris sucked in a rattling breath. “Mm, that’s right. Good boy.” He delicately traced the shape of Anders’ blushing cheekbone, then his jawline, before slipping two fingers into his mouth, forcing it open. Anders let it happen, placid and malleable to Fenris’ touch. He didn’t care anymore. He was so tired, and his heart and mind seemed to be sinking under the harsh light of Fenris’ domineering gaze. “Are you a good boy?” he asked, his expression mockingly jovial. Anders nodded slowly. He could not speak, for Fenris was pressing down on his tongue, tilting his head back as though trying to peer into his gaping mouth. It felt pleasant to be toyed with this way, and he enjoyed the faint taste of lyrium beneath his skin. Fenris smirked as Anders let out a gasp of pleasure. “Yes, you are a very good boy. And you are _my_ good boy, yes? All mine?”

Anders nodded more insistently at this question, his cock starting to swell and his eyes falling closed in response to Fenris’ dominance. Fenris chuckled softly at this. “Yes,” he said. “You _are_ mine.” He removed his fingers from Anders’ mouth then, and laid the man’s head on his knee, petting him like an animal once more. Anders sighed, licking his lips, inhaling Fenris' smell. He felt so warm inside, and so sleepy. The exhaustion was suddenly hitting him like a brick to the face. “You are mine,” Fenris went on, “because you do not have the power to keep yourself in check, mage. Remember that. That’s just how you are, isn't it?” His voice was low and dangerous. Justice was furious, but Anders was too busy clinging to the tenor of Fenris’ voice to heed the spirit now. “You need to place that power in someone else’s hands, don’t you? You’re pathetic, and you _need_ me.”

The mage nodded sleepily. “ _Yes_ , Master,” he whispered. “I _need you_.”

“Yes, and I’m here,” Fenris cooed, leaning down so that his breath tickled Anders’ scalp and sent tingles down the back of his neck. “Tell me what you need now, mage.”

Anders hesitated. He felt weak, powerless, almost drunk again. All he knew was that he was exhausted. “I need…" He yawned uncontrollably. "Sleep,” he said finally, a faint laugh dancing in the word.

Fenris nodded. “Up,” he said. Whining under his breath, Anders stood. He kept his eyes down, as though fearful what he would see if he met Fenris’ gaze. The elf stood too, and stepped away from the cot. “Lie down,” he ordered. Anders gulped, and a hand strayed absent-mindedly to his backside. Fenris smirked. “On your stomach,” he added generously. "And you may take off your ridiculous coat, too.”

Grinning shyly, his cheeks pink, Anders removed his feather pauldrons and coat, and settled himself face down on his small bed. It creaked and swayed as he found a comfortable enough position, his feet dangling off the end a little. The elf sat upright beside him, and that hand was in his hair again within seconds - warm, stern, but calming. He wondered if it was akin to the caress of a parent soothing their fussy child, but he could never know. He did not remember his own parents. Yet if he had to guess? This - whatever it was - tamed him; made him feel as though he were under the influence of some spell to silence his mind and slow his pulse. It was unnerving, and a little terrifying, but he was _so tired_ , he did not care enough to fight it.

“You are _safe_ ,” Fenris told him, deftly removing the tie in his hair. He raked his fingernails along the mage's scalp, combing out the tangles and smoothing out the waves left by his hasty ponytail. “You are safe,” he said again. Anders felt he was hearing him speak as though from under water. “I am in control. You cannot harm anyone. You cannot self destruct.” How did Fenris know exactly what buttons to push? Anders’ felt he was melting into his mattress. “I am in control, and you are safe.”

He hummed into his thin fraying pillow. “Yes,” he exhaled. “ _Thank you_ , Master.”

“ _Sleep,_ ” Fenris purred, a deep sound that resonated through him and seemed to slow his heart. “Sleep, mage.”

As he sunk into the bed, darkness falling like a curtain behind his eyes, Anders could hear the elf’s whisper again, from what seemed like a mile away. He inhaled deeply as the deep voice quivered through him one last time, shepherding him into unconsciousness at last:

**“You are safe.”**

* * *

An audio version of this chapter can be listened to [**HERE!**](http://tindeck.com/listen/bvmec)

 


	3. Break and Fold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS for some light verbal humiliation, the lightest possible bondage, and blood play.

When Anders woke, he was groggy. The door to his room was ajar. He blinked, disgruntled, at the sun filtering across the sawdust floor of his clinic. His body ached, his limbs felt heavy, and he groaned as he pushed himself up. Last night seemed a great distance away. In fact, all of yesterday felt as though it had spanned over a week at least, and had existed only in a dream. Time made so little sense. His head was racing, pounding with a rhythm that felt strangely like an echo of Fenris’ deep voice.

He groaned as he threw his legs over the edge of his cot, rubbing the back of his neck, and ignored the turn of disappointment in his stomach as he realized that Fenris had taken the collar back from him again.

His fingers slipped through his tousled hair more smoothly than usual, and it made him frown, flooded with sensations of the night before - the gentleness with which Fenris had removed the hair tie; how delicate the elf had been as he’d combed his fingers through the mess. He closed his eyes, remembering the way Fenris’ words had reverberated through his hollow chest, like a lullaby, “ _You are safe, you are safe, you are safe_ ,” and even now the words took hold of his heart and squeezed it softly, making love to his chaos and calming the storm for once in his life.

“Damn it, Fenris,” he mumbled, pulling his spare rubber band into his hair to keep it out of his face again. He didn’t know how long he had slept, but he felt more rested than he had in days. He realized, suddenly, that he was sitting - upright, with his bottom on the mattress - and his bruises were not screaming nearly as badly this morning.

 _We’re going back to him today, aren’t we?_  Anders rolled his eyes at the thought, knowing it was the spirit who’d prompted it. “I want to, yes,” he thought firmly. He felt a complex shiver run through him, like shame and rage twisting in his bones, and knew that Justice disapproved significantly. _This will only distract us from our goal._

Anders shrugged, stretched, and stood. His body was sore from sleeping in such a stiff position, but it was better than not sleeping at all, and he was grateful. If Fenris could get him to sleep - well, Anders thought him nothing short of a blessing.

As he moved through the clinic, putting things away and yawning, Anders’ mind wandered to what Fenris had told him. He needed guidelines. He needed to know what he did and did not want from him. This was more difficult than it had sounded at the time, Anders realized. He wanted everything. He wanted Fenris to dig his fingers into his soul and twist him, mold him, own him.

This was absurd. It made his head hurt and his stomach turn, but it was his reality, and he knew it was doing him no good to deny what he wanted just because it was disturbed. Today, having slept, he felt a strange clarity of mind about the whole ordeal. As he folded old blankets and sorted them into piles, he found himself smiling dreamily. There was a pain in his head where Justice was scowling, if he could call it that, but he could not stop. He had needs, and Fenris - for whatever reason - could satisfy him like no one else had been ever able to. Well, not since Karl.

Anders did not know when Fenris wanted him to come by, but he gave himself time to think before he left. He kept the clinic open for most of the morning and afternoon, and between clients, he let his mind wander, mulling over what was on and off the table for Fenris to do and say to him.

Justice was furious. Anders found his hand moving sometimes when he thought of Fenris - moving of its own accord, coming to slam into his face with excessive force. “Stop it!” He could not take it anymore. “Stop it!” he said again, his voice cracking. He clutched his hair, twisting his angry fingers against his scalp to hold himself steady and regain control. The woman he’d been treating scurried out, too frightened by his sudden outburst to thank him.

Alone again with himself, he reeled. _Your last patient came to you bruised by her lover_ , Justice said, eyes dancing ghostly blue. _How is this any different?_

“Shut up,” he growled. The light under his skin dimmed again. “I ask for it. I want it. I need it. That is the difference. I prompt my pain. I am not being undeservedly wounded while I innocently twiddle my thumbs. _That_ is the difference. So - Shut. _Up_.” His voice was fierce. His knuckles, white. He was pacing again, and he knew he must look insane, and knew this was all he could take. Before Justice could control him again, he snapped, took his fist, and rammed it into the wall. There was a loud crunch.

He felt grounded. Solid. Momentarily in control again.

Grinning, he stared at his bloody knuckles, panting as his wrist twinged. “I need to get out of here,” he mumbled, healing his battered hand with a wave of his other. He flexed his fingers. It was as though it had never happened.

Quickly, he gathered his small pack together, and affixed it to his belt. He took his staff in hand, and stared at it for a long minute. He felt strangely numb, running his thumb along a groove in the weapon’s surface.

He knew what he wanted to tell Fenris, but still bringing himself to actually leave the clinic and take himself there was causing him a great struggle.

 _Stop this_. Anders sensed Justice nag in the back of his mind. _Do not go. Stop before it is too late. We must not lose ourself to this_.

“I’m already losing myself,” the mage muttered to himself. He looked back. The quiet of his clinic was uninviting, almost ominous like a shadow creeping across his fraying self control.

He shivered, took a deep breath - and set out.

* * *

 

“Fenris?” He pushed the door open, a little unnerved to find it unlocked. But then, he figured, Fenris was probably waiting for him. Somehow, the thought did nothing to soothe him. The mansion’s lights were out, and only a gentle dusting of sunlight across the floor allowed Anders to see his footsteps. As he moved into the center of the parlor, he felt a chill, and looked around him. The memory of that night came back to him in a flood, and he was weighed down suddenly by images and sensations from an evening long since over.

Anders cleared his throat. “Fenris?” he called again.

The warrior appeared at the low balcony over the stairs, and leaned his palms on the rail. He scowled, glaring up and down Anders’ body. “You’re here,” he stated blankly.

“Yes,” said the mage. Fenris’ lip curled, yet otherwise he looked quite passive. Anders could not read his expression, and that frightened him a little.

As the elf began to move down the stairs, flowing slowly over each step, taking his time - he spoke gently. “If you have not done so, I would like for you to heal what marks I left on you last time.”

Anders felt his flesh crawl with embarrassment, and the inside of his skull twinged with a suppressed rage. He swallowed Justice back, however, and stood his ground. “Why?” he questioned. Fenris had reached the landing, and now approached him coolly, his hands behind his back. He was not dressed in his usual armor, but instead he wore an undershirt atop his leggings. The unusual sight was disconcerting, but the gauntlets were at least familiar, though threatening.

“We have not yet discussed your limits,” Fenris rumbled, his eyes piercing Anders’ with a vengeance, “so I will not punish you for that yet.” The mage gulped. “But do know that questioning me will not be permitted after we have negotiated. Am I understood?”

A shiver passed through him. This was already intense, and had Anders’ blood as cold as ice. He felt frozen to the spot, Fenris’ gaze clutching him where he stood as though in winter’s grasp. It was a very strange sensation, and stranger still that this was Fenris of all people. He would never get used to the fact that Fenris wanted him this way. He doubted he could ever adjust to the fact that he, himself, wanted Fenris perhaps more.

He nodded. “Yes,” he replied. Fenris raised his eyebrows and waited for the breadth of a couple of heartbeats before Anders corrected himself. “Yes, Master.” Fenris smiled coldly.

“Good,” he said, then he took a step back to examine Anders. “Tell me, did you sleep well enough?”

“More than I have in days,” Anders told him quietly, still rather embarrassed.

Fenris looked pleased, but only for a moment. “Right. Well. I will have you heal yourself, abomination, because I want you ripe to be beaten. I do not wish to hold back.” The air caught in Anders’ lungs at the deep rumble of this threat, and he nodded dazedly. “Alright, go on then,” he said dismissively, waving a lazy hand at him as he turned to retreat back up the stairs. “You will heal yourself, then you will follow me upstairs. I will be waiting, and we will… talk.” The word emerged on a sneer as though it were slightly painful to form on his tongue.

Anders scowled behind Fenris' back as he made his way up the staircase again, but he obeyed nonetheless. As Fenris vanished beyond the upper landing balcony, Anders put his hands to his bruised backside, and closed his eyes. The magic built, and he concentrated hard to heal the purpled flesh beneath his robes.

It did not take long, and when it was over, he felt relief wash over him. He wanted to stop everything just to sit on the ground - simply because he knew he could now without that dull throb of protest from his ass.

Yet the need to obey was stronger than the urge to indulge himself. He followed dutifully up the steps, trailing after Fenris until he met him in his master bedroom once again. The elf had taken a seat on a small bench that was propped against the wall, and Anders looked at him warily. Fenris pointed vaguely at Anders, then flicked his finger downwards. He needed no words, but Anders understood that he was expected to kneel. He did, and crawled towards the warrior on hands and knees.

Fenris leaned back on his hands, staring down at him curiously, leaving Anders with the feeling of being examined under a magnifying glass. He felt his insides might boil under that probing stare, and he did not know how to stop it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.

“So, mage,” Fenris sighed, looking unconcerned. “Tell me. Have you thought about what we discussed?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t,” Anders grunted. At the look Fenris gave him, he quickly added “...Master?”

The smile was only in Fenris’ voice as he spoke, but his expression remained impassive. “And what were your conclusions on the matter?”

Anders inhaled sharply. "Well," he began shakily. "Okay. I want this. I really... Maker forgive me, I really want this." He cleared his throat. "My guidelines, though? I... do not want to be spit on. I didn’t like that last time." He glared hesitantly at Fenris, waiting for a reaction, but he got none.

"Go on," said the elf. He sounded so stoic, it made Anders worry that he was bored.

“Right. Erm. I would appreciate not being called… an abomination… when I am here with you. Or... at all, come to think of it.”

“When you are here with me,” Fenris agreed pointedly, smirking. “Then I shall not call you an abomination. Go on.”

Anders shrugged. He bowed his head to avert his eyes from that scrutinizing stare, but Fenris took his face in his hand, and tugged him towards him. Now they were looking at each other firmly, and the rawness of it twisted Anders’ heartbeat. His breathing hitched, lips parted. Fenris’ eyes went to his mouth for the briefest of seconds, then locked with his again. “I told you to go on, mage.” He was firm, but he betrayed no anger in his voice. “Is there any more you need to tell me?”

He swallowed hard. Those eyes were burning him. He wanted to look away for fear of melting under their heat, but he hadn't the strength. “Er… I guess… please don’t let me pass out?” He was ashamed to hear the timidity in his voice, but he could not take it back now.

Fenris grinned coldly, his eyes glinting. “Understood. Is that all?”

“Yes,” Anders conceded. “I think so.”

“Are you certain?”

He hesitated, his pulse racing. The question made him uneasy. “Y - yes?” he said finally.

“Good.” Fenris stood. Anders sat back on his heels, cricking his neck to look up at the standing elf. “Your terms are reasonable, if sparse,” he said. “Now, are you currently capable of hearing the rules I have set for you, mage?’

“Yes,” Anders snarled, and it sounded more resentful than he’d meant it to. “Master,” he added rapidly, bowing his head close to the floor to reinforce his submission.

The elf glared down at him for a moment, then pushed his head back up with his foot, so he could see his face again. “Good,” he said quietly, and Anders could see the hunger behind his eyes again. It was chilling. He felt a little sick. “Sit upright, mage.” Anders obeyed, straightening his spine atop his shins as he sat back and Fenris moved to walk circles around him again. How painfully familiar it was. "Now, do pay attention, boy."  He licked his lips.

"First, you will obey my orders without fail and without question. If something is of concern, you may say so, but you shall not question my final judgment. Second, you will keep your eyes averted to the floor unless I ask you to look at me. Third, if you have truly reached your threshold, you will say 'circle,' alright?" Their biggest point of disagreement; it was sure to take them out of the mood at a moment's notice. Anders nodded to show he was listening. "If you have need for it but cannot say the word, for one reason or another, you will snap your fingers. Next, There will be absolutely no magic performed here, unless there is a desperate emergency.

“And finally, it should be obvious by now, but you will refer to me only as ‘Master’ at all times if you are able to speak, until you leave this mansion. Am I clear, mage?”

Anders nodded again. His eyes were wide and glossy in the lamplight. This recurring subject of not being able to speak made him wary, but he did not question, and knew he had not listed gagging as a limit. So he swallowed and narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the elf as he circled him.

“Any questions?”

Anders shook his head.

“Good.” Fenris stopped pacing finally, planting his feet on the floorboards in front of Anders. He looked up at him, wide-eyed, nervous, but Fenris' expression was unchanging. “Now express your worship properly, filthy mage. As before.”  He had the faintest smile on his face, as though he were only vaguely pleased about something. But as the moment stretched, his brow knitted.

"What did I just say when I listed my rules, idiot mage? Where should your eyes be, at all times?"

"The floor, Master," Anders mumbled, hurriedly glancing back down. The lyrium of Fenris' toes was stark against the black of his leggings. How uncomfortable it must be to have painful markings string around the soles of his feet. He could not imagine. "I am sorry, Master." There was a lump in his throat, and he knew: there was no turning back from here.

"So show me, mage." Fenris' voice was husky, rich with condescension.  "Pay your contrition by proving your worth to me. Show me your place in this world."

Resisting the urge to look up into Fenris' eyes, Anders drew a long inhale. "Yes, Master," he breathed out, and bent low until his mouth was less than an inch from the elf's toe.

His bottom lip brushed the top of Fenris' foot, and he could feel the warrior shudder weakly at the brief contact. His breath was warm, and where his sigh caressed his markings, the flesh tingled and broke into goosebumps. His toes curled. Carefully, Anders pressed his closed mouth against the elf's big toe, and made a point to exhale so that the vibration of his breath could be felt where he made contact. Fenris inhaled sharply. Anders knew what this is doing to him, could feel it in the air between them like electricity, and it fueled him.

He kissed the foot before him slowly, sensually. He allowed himself a small groan as he worshipped, running his forefinger along one of the markings he knew curled upward around the elf's ankle. His heart soared at the strained groan of approval from overhead. "Tell me," Fenris breathed tensely, "why you are here. Remind yourself of your reasons. Prove to me you understand my purpose in your life."

Anders sighed against the bone of Fenris’ foot. He pressed closer, allowing his tongue to ever so slightly embrace the marked flesh as he spoke, and something burst inside him at the taste of lyrium. "I am here," he recited, "because I am out of control, Master. I need your control, Master. I need to give up my power; to give you my autonomy." It had barely registered with him before the words tumbled out, but he suddenly knew them to be true. How pathetic he felt.

Fenris groaned, his tongue poking out from between his lips absentmindedly as he watched the mage at his feet. "Good," he exhaled. "My good boy."

Anders felt the praise in the center of his ribcage, pulling at his heartstrings and echoing through his bones. He felt frail with his need to obey, but his head was so pleasantly light from this submission, he could barely feel Justice’s protest anymore.

"Thank you, Master," he submitted.

He heard a tense hiss above him, and blinked hard, resisting the urge to look up and watch Fenris' fierce eyes as he grew aroused. Then, "Face me," he said,  "but do not look at me. Keep your eyes down, but let me see your pretty face." He sat upright, and tilted his head up, his eyes straining downward to remain fixed on his Master’s feet. _His Master_ , he thought. Was he really already thinking of Fenris as his Master, even in the privacy of his own head?

But he had no time to think on it, for a moment later he gasped as a leather- and metal-clad palm struck his cheek. His head snapped sideways under the pressure of the smack, and he whimpered. He clenched his hands into shaking fists, fighting with himself to stop from looking up and begging Fenris’ mercy. He was breathing hard through his nose, his jaw clenched, when the second hit came. He tasted blood. Anders managed to bite back the yelp, but his red face was betraying him anyway.

"I _know_ it hurts," Fenris said gently, and there was a mocking pout in his tone. "But you need to get used to your place here, slave." Fingertips slid along the shape of Anders' cheekbone, then pressed into the hollow, prodding it gently with the point of the claw. Anders blinked hard, his eyes still averted. It took every ounce of self discipline he had, but he supposed that was the point. It seemed, to him, that Fenris was studying him: the texture of his skin, the lines of his face, all of the details. He felt hot, certain the elf was staring at him just as curiously as the caress implied.

A calloused thumb brushed across his eyelid. Anders' breathing stuttered, and he gulped. "You seem nervous," Fenris said flatly.

Anders did not respond. Fenris knew damn well he was nervous.

"Here," said the elf gently. "I may have something to put you at ease." Anders bit his lip, listening to the elf fumble. It sounded distinctly like Fenris was removing a gauntlet, but then he seemed to be fiddling with something in his belt's satchel. Anders gasped as fingers found his throat. It was remarkably unthreatening, and touched something soft in his core. He shivered, his flesh raising goosebumps at the bizarre sensation of Fenris' fingernails scraping his jugular.

The leather was soft and comforting, and Fenris made an ordeal of tightening the buckle firmly beneath his chin. When he was finished, he slunk his pinky finger through the loop, and tugged - testing his work. The leather bit into the mage's skin but did not give. Anders winced. Fenris was right: as bizarre and near-shameful as it was, it _did_ put him at ease.

Fenris let slide a low whistle. Anders wished he could have seen his face, and had to squeeze his eyes shut to avoid disobeying for a glimpse of that hunger.

“Look at me,” Fenris croaked graciously, and Anders’ eyes snapped to attention without a second to spare. Fenris was gazing at him with such wonder, his expression was like a fist of shock, gripping his heart and tightening its hold. Anders was breathless for a moment. He felt dizzy when Fenris came to sit on his knees in front of him, to meet him at eye level, and from the look of it, so did Fenris. “You are a good slave,” Fenris cooed, stroking the width of Anders’ cheek with his right hand, now free of his glove, and trailed his fingers beyond it, into his hair. The entire expanse of Anders’ skin tingled and shuddered at the soft caress across his scalp, and the reaction showed. Fenris smiled. “How are you feeling now, boy?” His eyes were narrow, but glossy with lust, and his flesh had deepened in color from his own heat. All from the simple act of taking power; from this vision of Anders’ submission. Both men were in awe of this reality, and did not want to question it.

Anders licked his lips, nodding dazedly. He leaned into the touch when Fenris ran his fingers along his cheekbone, and sighed, “I… feel....” He thought for a short moment, peering into his own head and finding no struggle. “Free,” he breathed. “Safe.”

“Good.” Fenris’ eyes were shining. Blinding. Now Anders suddenly wanted to look away. “Because you know I will take better care of you than you can, mage? Yes?”

“Yes, Master,” Anders breathed automatically, and he felt a little sick as something inside him protested. Justice. He shoved it down.

“Good,” Fenris said again. He touched beneath Anders’ chin, and gently gestured him forward, so that their faces were an inch apart. Though sober this time, Anders felt intoxicated from the smell of the elf, drunk on the jolt that struck his heart as their noses brushed.

That was nothing to the sensation of a gentle press of lips to his. He let out a noise of surprise, and his eyes widened. But Fenris' expression was relaxed, his fingers swept into his hair to pull him in closer. He felt the warrior's breathing quicken, sensed his heat rising, and watched the blush creep across those dark cheeks. The tenderness was unlike anything Anders could have expected. His shock must have been evident, because Fenris paused.

Without pulling away or opening his eyes, he sighed, "Hush, my pet," against Anders parted mouth, and the word 'pet' ran through his veins like fire. "Quiet your mind. You are mine, now. Just enjoy that freedom." As he kissed him again, two fingers curled beneath the leather of the collar, and gripped his throat with it.

Anders' breathing was constricted ever so slightly, and the warm wet mouth against his combined to overwhelm him. Forget drunk - Anders was _plastered_ now, sinking like a brick into this ocean of Fenris' dominance, and he could not think, could not feel anything but sensation and safety. It was delicious.

All at once, with Fenris' sweet tongue delving into him, Anders' tension released. He let go of himself, his eyes fell shut, and he groaned. Fenris grinned against his mouth as he kissed him, and his tiny breath of laughter filled Anders' belly with excitement. He was hard, and he could not quite say when that had happened.

Fenris’s taste was sweet and heady. Anders drank him in eagerly. His moan was lost, crushed against the elf’s devouring tongue. The grip at his throat was shaky, and Fenris was inching towards him on his knees as though eager to push him backwards onto the floor. _Do it_ , Anders thought helplessly, but it was then that Fenris stopped himself. Anders whined at the loss of contact when the elf pulled away, and was met with a sharp slap to his cheek. At least this time his Master was not wearing a glove on that hand.

He pouted as Fenris stood again, lyrium-laced fingers still in his hair. There was a long moment of silence. Fenris' breathing was almost as ragged as Anders' in the quiet. He tugged the mage close, pressing his face against his thigh almost... protectively. Anders wondered vaguely, somewhere in the outskirts or his mind, whether Danarius had ever treated Fenris with such care. His heart panged sorrowfully at the thought, and he nuzzled softly against Fenris' hip.

"I know you are losing yourself, pet, and that is good," Fenris purred, "but tell me if you can remember your wordless stop signal."

Anders swallowed. His mouth felt rather dry. "I will snap my fingers, Master."

"That's a good boy." Fenris stroked his cheek, then yanked his face away from him by the collar. Eyes back on his Master’s feet, he could not see what Fenris was doing overhead. He simply waited, patient and pliant, until the warrior pulled his chin back to face him.

A twist of fabric knotted into a ball in the center was held before him. "Open your mouth," Fenris demanded, and Anders complied warily. When the knot came to rest between his teeth, and Fenris instructed him to close his jaw, Anders whimpered. The fabric was dry on his tongue. He cringed. Fenris knotted the linen behind his head. "Good boy."

Lifting the mage to his feet, Fenris moved towards the bed. Anders scurried at his side, wagging his tongue around the gag in an attempt to adjust to its presence. He couldn’t, and Fenris was pulling him along too quickly for him to focus on it.

Fenris sat on the edge of the mattress, and within an instant, Anders had been yanked by the collar forward, strewn across the elf’s lap so that his ribs crushed to the tops of his thighs. Fenris was able to feel his violent heart rate through his legs this way, and his pallid ass was now exposed for him. Anders whined and squirmed.

“What’s that, slave?” Fenris warned, but it was not really a question. Anders shook his head. “That’s what I thought.” The fingers that admired his backside were hot. The lyrium was burning through the flesh of his fingertips, boring through Anders’ pores and making him high. His eyes rolled back at the magic of this slightest contact. He moaned.

The sensation did not last long, however. Fenris moved that hand into his hair, and gripped him by the roots to keep him still. Anders held his breath, knowing what was coming. The elf’s other hand was still buckled into his metal gauntlet, claws and all, while Anders was naked; vulnerable.

“You will get ten to start with,” Fenris warned. Just as Anders nodded to show he understood, the sound of steel on flesh rang out and was punctuated by his cry of pain.

Already the recently healed surface burned again, and he whimpered when Fenris stroked him tenderly. His mind seemed cleansed by the ache, and the second hit emptied him completely. His eyes rolled with the wild moan, and he squirmed. Fenris tutted. "In only one night I have seen you take a lot. I know you can handle this." The claw of his glove danced across Anders' buttock. He shivered, terrified. Was Fenris really going to...?

The point of the steel pressed against him. Anders' whole body lurched in fearful anticipation, but Fenris held him steady and sharply swatted the back of his thigh. "You _can_ handle this," he insisted. "I've got you. Simply be still, mage."

Anders nodded vigorously, more to reassure himself than to agree with the elf, but it seemed to encourage Fenris. The sharp talon pushed hard at his skin again, and he held his breath expectantly.

When the clawed fingertip broke skin, his shriek pierced the air just as violently. His reaction swelled then waned, and he retreated into himself again with a whimper. He felt suddenly very small; completely helpless. It was beautiful. The tears that came next could not be stopped. He writhed across Fenris’ lap, but the elf held him with his other hand, twisting it into his mop of hair. The pain was white-hot, and it spread outwards in tendrils from the affected nerves.

Then there was warmth. Wet, warm blood trickled across his flesh, and Anders felt his chest turn hollow. His jagged breathing seemed to stop for a moment and he went still as numb surprise flooded him. He had not expected Fenris to go this far, yet it stilled his mind and grounded him, and - he loved it. He could not hear Justice. He could not feel him anywhere. He felt nothing but the pain and the rough hands holding him in place. This was bliss. Terrible, painful, empty bliss. Fenris was hard against his belly where he lay, and Anders knew the elf was relishing this sight.

“Heal,” came a gruff whisper.

Unthinking and dazed, Anders tried to respond, _“Heal myself?”_ but his words were lost against the gag.

The sharp claws scraped a cruel line of red across the width of Anders’ backside, making him whimper and sending a shudder up his spine.

“Did I ask for a reply, boy? Or was that an order? Heal yourself - but only the broken skin. Leave the bruises as they are.”

Anders cringed. _I’m sorry, Master_. He closed his eyes, and mustered what healing magic he could. The throbbing cut vanished, but the pain still lingered. Fenris smiled overhead where he could not see him.

“Good.” The talons traced circles on his buttocks, fondling the spot where he had just punctured. His simple soft touch was threatening, and Anders felt his heart in his throat, violent and fearful and shamefully aroused. He waited.

The thrashing began. Being spanked was so much worse when the offending hand was clad in that sharp gauntlet, but Anders held his breath, knowing Fenris was right: he could take it. He clutched Fenris’ hip where he could reach it, to brace himself for the second and third hits. He was whining by the fifth smack, and dug his fingernails into the fabric of Fenris’ leggings. Fenris was merciless, and by the time the tenth strike had fallen, Anders was writhing again. “Good boy,” the elf cooed in a deep raspy whisper. “Red and swollen and mine. You are safe this way, yes?” Anders nodded so vigorously, he was a little ashamed of how easy it was to admit. “Mine.” The points of the gauntlet pressed against his raw skin again, and Anders drew a steeling breath.

He was sweating, trembling, but he was prepared this time. The tingling pain that shot through his nerves as his flesh broke was expected, but still he cried out. Still, the tears prickled and spilled. His insides squirmed when Fenris spread the fresh bubble of blood along his skin, painting long scarlet stripes up along his lower back. “Mm. You look deliciously helpless,” Fenris told him. He nodded weakly, unsure of what else to do. “Now, again. _Heal_.”

Anders obeyed. He tried to savor the momentary relief, but knew it was futile. “You will take one more round,” Fenris confirmed a moment later. “We shall see how well you can take more after that. And - ” He laughed, like cold thunder. “We shall see how much longer I can stand not to have your pretty mouth around me after I’ve beaten you a little more, hm?”

The words jolted Anders’ cock, and his back arched  against his will. He thrust against Fenris’ thigh, his cock straining. Swollen, desperate, red, and painful. He needed release badly already. The shame he felt from being so turned on by this had melted into pure heat. It no longer registered as shame, but instead kept him empty and submissive, in a constant state of need for Fenris - for his Master. He smiled sloppily, his eyes drooping and his chin nuzzling absentmindedly against Fenris’ leg. He felt drunk again. The cock nudging his belly was teasing.

Part of Anders wanted to plead for more, but he knew better than to beg. Master was in control here, and Master would decide when he was ready. Were he in a normal headspace, he might have been shocked by how okay he was with that - but this had become a new norm. The elf had his power wormed deep into Anders’ mind, wiggling its little fingers around in the corners of him he'd never touched before. He was overwhelmed and calmed by it, all at once.

The next series of ten began sharply. Anders counted them out in his head as the bruises bloomed, and his nerves were screaming in protest. But he kept as still as he could as his Master’s palm abused him, and Fenris seemed deeply pleased by it. He took each hit with a sense of duty and pride that seemed to make the elf even harder.

 _Six. Seven_.

By the eighth strike, Fenris was gently bucking up against Anders’ torso across his lap, and the hand holding his head down was starting to tremble.

The mage grinned dazedly against his gag. He wiggled his toes and swayed his hips a little in hopes of tempting the elf, before the next hit came. He gasped with some difficulty, and cringed. The buckling across Fenris’ palm was digging welts against his ass, and it hurt. Oh, Maker, did it hurt.

 _Nine. Ten_.

Anders squealed as the last blow shook him. He sounded pitiful. Fenris laughed coldly, but praised him with a fire in his voice that told Anders plainly just how badly he wanted him. He struggled a little in Fenris’ lap, begging with his body language to be touched sensually, to be filled and used for something beyond pain.

He let out a babbling mumble around the gag that was supposed to be a faint “please,” escaped him, but Fenris did not understand him. Instead, the elf drew his talons down Anders’ spine once more, and rapped smartly across his buttocks. Anders shook his head fearfully, and moaned in desperation.

“Yes,” Fenris rasped harshly. “Yes. One more time. You can take it.”

Anders nodded against his better judgement. Sweat was cascading from every pore. His back, face, and neck were dripping, and he could do nothing to stop it.

His nod was his undoing.

True to his word, his Master let the steel snap against his taut flesh again, and hissed ecstatically at the way Anders broke into a stifled scream. The gag - already soaked through with saliva - now tasted salty as tears stung his chapped lips. The familiar warmth of his own blood pooling under Fenris’ grip weakened him. He went slack, limbs still trembling, and waited. He was panting. His vision kept sliding in and out of focus. This was verging on too much, Anders thought, but he would take it, as Master knew he could.

The elf removed his gauntlet. He could hear the clasps unfastening, and feel Fenris moving. When it fell away, the soft palm on his ass was welcome. He bucked back into the skin-on-skin contact, and the nerves where Fenris had punctured him screamed in protest. “Ah, ah, ah,” Fenris warned, running circles around the gash with his bare fingertip. “Be more careful, mage. Wouldn’t want you to... “  He ran his thumb over the broken skin, and smeared a streak of deep crimson over Anders’ hip. “... Get hurt.” His fingers were trembling a little.

Anders nodded limply, and whimpered.

“Do not heal yourself this time.” The mage felt his chest tighten. “I’m done with that for now, and I want you to feel how it stings while you suck my cock.”

His stomach turned. He knew he existed to please, and the very thought sent a tingle of relaxed delight through his brain, shooting down his spine and settling in the bowl of his hips. His own cock surged with excitement, and he had to gulp to prevent the moan at his lips.

He was guided with remarkable gentleness to the floor, and his knees felt like jelly when they struck the floor. He almost toppled over, but Fenris held him tightly by the scalp. With his other hand the elf removed the gag, and he let out of a sob as it passed from his tongue. He smacked his lips together, trying to rid himself of the dry-mouth feeling without drooling all over himself. “What do we say?” Fenris cooed.

“ _Thank you_ , Master.” He slurred a little.

Fenris looked pleased. “That’s my boy.”

Anders nodded. _Your boy_ , he thought. _Yours. All yours_.

Fenris removed his leggings, and when Anders tried to help eagerly, his hand was smacked away. He pouted, watching as his Master’s cock was unveiled, warm arousal twirling in his stomach. The leggings pooled on the floor. He was tugged forward.

To replace the scratchy fabric with soft, warm skin was a blessing. He sucked Fenris’ length down as though it were sweet; as though it were sustenance. He groaned. All he could see was the black beneath his eyelids and the colors that burst there as the pressure rose. The air crackled with the ecstatic moans from above him, and he barely noticed the tears drying on his face anymore. Gentle fingers stroked his cheeks, easing his jaw further open. Anders’ lips and tongue stretched to accommodate the width, and when Fenris thrust forward suddenly, he almost choked.

“ _Mm_ ,” Fenris purred. “Beautiful. I'm impressed. Under my control, no one need ever know how weak you are.”

Anders nodded shakily with a quiet sigh of pleasure. He ran his tongue from base to tip, tasting the salty excitement where Fenris could not hold back. The fingers were trembling in his hair, and it did not escape Anders’ notice.

Master did not give him notice before that animalistic growl shook through him. All composure was dropped suddenly, and Fenris was fucking him hard, ramming painfully against the back of the mage's throat and not stopping when Anders’ sobs became easily distinguished as cries of pain and protest.

The nerves in his ass were still screaming angrily as his throat stretched, fucked violently. He was aching horribly at both ends, and with a jolt of disgust he realized that the warm sensation traveling downward from his bruised backside was in fact a trail of still-oozing blood. He whined in horror around the elf’s girth, whimpering and squirming helplessly under his Master’s grip. Drool gushed down the front of his chin as his throat contracted and he choked. His eyes filled with tears.

To his relief, it did not take Fenris long to come. He had been so oversaturated with desire, so undone by how fragile Anders was for him, he needed very little to actually get off.

Anders took what he could, but the elf was painting the back of his tongue so gruffly, he coughed. Semen dribbled from his lips and almost went up his nose, but he swallowed most of it successfully despite his noises of disgust and pain. It was thick, bitter, but heavenly.

He wailed when the elf withdrew from his mouth with a wet pop. He wanted to look up at his Master now, to thank him, but he knew the rules. He kept his eyes downcast but his mouth open, throat sticky and sore, breathing heavy.

There was a soft pat on his head, similar to how one might gently reward good behavior in a cat. He almost gave in and looked up then, but to his disappointment, the elf stood and vanished. Anders was left alone on his knees, swaying on the spot until he lost all center of gravity and let himself fall forward. He rest his head on the mattress, ass in the air again, and waited patiently.

Clammy palms clamped around his wrists, and he gasped. He felt his arms yanked behind him, could hear Fenris’ breathing over his shoulder, and was comforted. He practically purred when the next sensation he felt was something prickly, and knew it was rope.

A knot at his lower back, pinning his arms in place? It seemed so simple, so tame for the elf’s usual aggression, but it was welcome and Anders would not question it. He closed his eyes, smiling gently to himself, and letting Fenris’ hands wander. A lyrium-inflamed finger drew a path through the blood trail on his ass, painting dark red swirls around to his front. When Anders next looked down, he could see Fenris’ bloody fingerprints dotting his lower belly and the base of his stone hard cock. He bit his lip, and bucked.

“Tell me who owns you,” came the deep rumble.

“You, Master,” he rasped quickly, and his voice was tense with eagerness. “You own me, Master.”

“Do you love your Master?”

There was a silence, during which Anders tested the new bonds, and Fenris fiddled with the knot.

This was not love, but Anders understood what was wanted of him. He prefered not to think about how often Fenris had probably been forced to say he loved Danarius, so in the name of power play, he conceded. There was blood on his ass and a pain shooting through him from where the gauntlet had punctured him, and that was as close to love as he could come for now. “Yes, Master. I love you, Master.”

Fenris moved around him, and slipped onto the bed in front of Anders again. The mage’s damp chin came to lie on his knee, and he could feel his flesh reacting to the lyrium there, but ignored it. “Look at me.” Anders flicked his eyes upward gratefully. His marrow froze at the contact of his gaze. Fenris’s eyes were heavy. He looked drunk on power, and overwhelmed by it. “Tell me, mage. Tell me how you love me.” To guide him, Fenris took his head in hands and moved his lips to his thigh in a forced kiss which Anders sank into happily. “Show me.”

It became clear. Master wanted to be worshiped. He wanted to feel his control, tangible at his fingertips. Anders appreciated the heady sensation of his Master’s power crawling around in his skull, and he was prime to indulge him this.

His tongue was still sticky when he poked it out from his lips to taste the lyrium tattooed just above Fenris’ knee. The warrior hissed. His head fell back. Anders could not resist staring, and when Fenris took his lower lip between his teeth, Anders felt something inside him quake.

There was a tingling sensation where his mouth met the brands he shuddered. A shadow in his stomach stirred. The spirit was breathless. He blinked, trying to ignore the way Justice reacted so strongly to the lyrium in his mouth, and kept his eyes on the creeping blush moving down to Fenris’ chest now. He loved the way the dark flesh bloomed with lust at the touch of his tongue.

It was nothing, however, to the awe that trickled through him next when the lyrium suddenly flared a vivid white beneath his mouth. He moaned, uncontrollably. The elf’s sigh surrounded him, the lyrium filled him, and Justice whined at the warmth.

He rolled his tongue over a series of three dots on Fenris’ knee. The elf wriggled, his knuckles pale in Anders’ hair, his lip still trapped between his teeth. His bite, usually pearly white, looked grey beside the overbearing glow of lyrium shimmering through his figure.

Straining his hands, desperate to touch, he lapped a trail up Fenris’ inner thigh. The mark was long, slightly raised beneath the flesh, and it tasted of rapture. He suckled gently every few inches as he worked his way up to the apex, drowning in the way each time it elicited a squeeze in his scalp. Little love-bites along the tattoos seemed to hurt, but they sent shivers to Fenris’ limp cock, and Anders’ eyes kept flitting to it, watching carefully as the thing seemed to slowly engorge yet again. With this, he knew he was doing what was wanted of him, and he was elated. Pleasing Fenris was a need as basic as his need to breathe, it seemed.

Inches from the elf’s groin, Anders paused. Fenris moaned in anguish, and pressed his face harder against his skin. “Don’t fucking stop,” he snapped. His voice was shrill. He seemed more moved by this than even fucking Anders’ face.

“Yes, Master,” he mumbled against the glow of lyrium, and clamped his mouth around one swirl that arched down, around, and disappeared beneath the curve of Fenris’ ass. He sucked hard, and something beneath his skin shuddered, reeled, and exploded.

Anders was inside of himself - present but distant, buried beneath sensation and magic and an overabundance of mana that was practically bursting from his pores. He had never dreamed that lavishing Fenris’ markings could do this to him, but now he never wanted to stop.

“Fuck,” he whispered through a mouthful of thigh, but the simple exclamation went punished immediately.

One hand left his scalp, and found his throat. The harsh palm crushed the leather collar into his skin, squeezing hard, and Anders choked. The pressure built. His cock throbbed furiously, his esophagus burned, and he whimpered. But his tongue was flat against one line of lyrium, and it reacted violently with all the other sensation.

Justice was screaming silently. Not in protest this time, but for more. Lyrium was his drug, but raw in Anders’ body it should be toxic. Lyrium embedded in flesh was as close as they would get. Justice felt Fenris a walking lyrium vein, delicious, pure, singing, beautiful, and it was better than anything he'd ever tasted. It outshone their differences, overpowered Justice’s hatred, and made him glow.

The spirit moaned with him. Their cock twitched. It was full and red and angry, but they were too docile to beg for release; too high to do anything but serve and obey.

He knew Justice was showing through his skin, but he could not stop it. Fear was rampant in him though, when he felt Fenris tense.

To his surprise, however, the elf laughed, twisted into a growl of pleasure. “If _it_ wishes to submit as well, I’ll not turn it away. Just know, _beast_ , that Anders is mine now.” Anders’ mind screamed _Yes, yours, I’m yours, Master_. “Mine. You will _never_ have him like I have him.”

Stoned by the lyrium, Justice could not respond. He reached a new height, and fell back, so that Anders was torn between the fade and his Master’s skin all at once. He scraped his teeth along the tattoo he was admiring, and groaned.

Fenris’ head lolled back, mouth open. “Fuck,” he swore. “Stupid little slave. Why do you feel so fucking good?” Then suddenly, he could breathe easily again. He gasped. “Do you want to come, boy?” Fenris asked.

Anders nodded shakily. “Yes, Master. Please, Master.”

“Not yet.” Fenris smiled cruelly. “But soon.”

He cringed. His cock and balls were starting to seriously hurt. “Yes, Master,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

Slap. “Be more grateful.”

“Yes, Master,” he tried again, with some effort. “Thank you, Master.”

Fenris grunted at Anders’ words. Justice purred deep inside him. “ _Maker_ , I need to fuck you.” He sounded far away, strained. “Suck me off again, boy. Make me harder. I can’t wait any longer.”

Anders moaned in deference, “Yes, Master.”

He reached for the elf's cock with his tongue and lips, grasping at the air like this until Fenris eased his neck forward the rest of the way. He still tasted like semen, but the air had dried him out; so when Anders slurped the head past his teeth and rolled his tongue around it, Fenris threw his head back in appreciation of the warmth and the wetness with a sigh.

Justice, too, could taste Fenris on his tongue, and did not turn away. He did not approve, but he was too high on this unnatural flesh to care. He was enraptured, and Anders was falling hard under the intoxication of his spirit and the power of his Master. He gagged himself on the cock before him as it hardened significantly, his hands straining uselessly behind him, and sucked hard.

“Enough.”

Sliding back, a string of saliva followed, stretching between Anders’ lips and the swollen cock which was red and angry now. The mage gave a sloppy open-mouthed grin, and he looked obscene; sultry, with drunken eyes and a dripping pink mouth.

“Make yourself wet for me.” Even as he spoke, Fenris was shoving him away, down to the floor, yanking him by his ankles to spin him around like like a ragdoll. He toppled, face squashed against the floor and his ass stretched high in the air. He tried to nod, but with his neck strained this way, he couldn't do so with ease.

But he did as he was told, with a wiggle of his bound fingers and a sigh. The fabricated lubricant was slick, and ran down the backs of his thighs. He still burned where Fenris had broke skin on his buttock, and winced when the warrior squeezed him by the hips to drag him into place.

There was a thump as Fenris’ knees came to fall behind him. He held his breath, painfully aware of his Master’s ragged panting and desperate presence.

Fenris let the head of his cock rest teasingly on the rim of his ass, and Anders’ squirmed. “Ah, ah, ah,” he warned. A long glowing finger hooked beneath his collar and tugged sharply so that he choked and sputtered. His head spun. “You will be still until I give you permission to come, boy. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Master.” He sounded ridiculous with his cheek still crushed against the floor.

“You are are a toy for me tonight. A thing. An obedient animal.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Tell me who owns you.” Fenris’ voice was tense with the effort of holding back, and Anders felt his hips shift.

“I am yours, Master. Your toy. Your thing. You own me.”

That did it. Anders’ ass stretched, and he whimpered as he was slowly entered.

The angle forced Anders to control his muscles in order to accommodate the size of the elf. If he tensed, it hurt, and his chest would ache from the stretch of his shoulders and neck. Fenris knew this, the bastard. “Breathe,” he reminded him, and Anders released air he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He deflated, relaxed, and Fenris’ cock slid further into him with more ease.

“Fuck,” the elf swore. “I do so enjoy this tight ass. How fortunate that it is all mine now.”

He was slow about it at first, drawing lines on Anders flesh with his finger, teasing his wound and clearly delighting in the mage's wincing. His touch grew mean quickly, harsh and scraping until he wasn't even bothering to hold back anymore. He dug his fingernails into Anders’ back, and the man cried out. He tensed again.

“Shh, boy. You're fine. Breathe.” Again, Anders drew a shuddering breath on Fenris’ command, and his muscles loosened. He sighed, closed his eyes, and allowed himself to feel it fully. The head of Fenris’ vengeful cock was nudging him softly deep inside, and his ass was clenched hard around it, conforming to the shape and size of the warrior.

He wanted more contact. He needed more. The pain of being cut and filled was good but he wanted to be fucked with abandon. He wanted to come and he wanted to take Fenris’ come just as badly.

It was a blessing - a mercy - to hear the elf’s gruff command: “Beg.”

“Please,” escaped him on his very next breath, gratitude etched in the word and plain on his face. “Please, Master. Please fuck me. Please, please, please...”

With the tiniest chuckle, Fenris did. First he thrust deeper, lurching Anders forward more so that he winced against the floorboards. The rough strokes transitioned smoothly into faster ones, and then he was fucking him - really fucking him, so that Anders crumbled beneath his calloused tattooed hands. His eyes rolled. Drool pooled around his mouth on the floor, and no amount of deep breathing could prevent his pained whimpering.

“My sniveling mess,” Fenris spat. Anders felt that condescension deep in his gut, close to where his Master’s cock was buried. “Beautiful, weak little thing. Cry out for me.”

Anders let out a yelp, twisted into a sob, as Fenris rammed into him.

“ _Perfect._ ”

A flash of blue shot through him, and Justice buckled, folding in on himself and rolling into the deepest corners of Anders’ unconscious to curl up and revel in the lyrium high, alone in the dark. Anders felt filled to the brim. His body and mind were Fenris’, emptied and consumed by him, leaving the scarier parts of him in Justice's hands. He felt held from all directions. Safe.

He was fucked with a vengeance. Sweat coated him, and he could not be certain what was his or Fenris’, for their endings and beginnings blurred in a passionate haze.

Fenris’ fingernails found the shallow cut on his ass again, and he squeezed, torturing Anders with a soft breathy chuckle. He did not stop his hips for this, but continued fucking the mage into the floor even as he relished in his suffering. He moaned when Anders whined and squirmed. “ _Fuck_. I'm going to come if you keep struggling like that. But - ” He slunk one hand to Anders’ neck and looped around the collar. “I want you to come first.” He grunted. “I want to feel you from the inside this time. For me.”

Anders needed no telling twice. His body had been aching to release, and there was nothing like Fenris’ command to make it happen.

Tidal waves of ecstasy crashed over him, starting deep in his gut and spiraling outward. He came violently. The rope tightened around his wrists as he writhed, and Fenris gripped his hips demandingly. He held the mage as still as he could as the poor man unraveled in his grasp, fucking him quick and rough. He was in complete control. Justice was glowing behind Anders’ eyelids, ethereal light spider-webbing through his blonde hair, but Justice was quiet, and Anders was free for a moment. Safe. Comfortably whole.

When his body was spent, he went limp. His cock was dripping onto the floor, still untouched and still aching, but his Master did not let him go. “You're so tight when you come,” he hissed. Digging fingers into the cut still plaguing Anders’ backside, he bit his lip when the mage cried out. The human’s reaction was too spectacular, it overwhelmed his senses to feel the tension around his cock, to hear him screech with pain and watch him struggle...

Fenris came again in a rush, bending over his mage, fingers curling more tightly around the collar that claimed him. He closed his eyes, relishing the sputtering sounds and choked pleas that met his ears as he filled him.

Semen was painting his insides, warm and wet, and it was dizzying to feel that alongside the pain Fenris inflicted, especially when he had barely recovered from his own orgasm and was still shaking.

It took Fenris a long time to pull out of him, too content to feel Anders’ body close and warm on his wet cock. When he finally did, he stumbled slightly onto his side, wearing a sleepy grin. “Maker’s beard,” he panted. “You are so fucking _tight_ when you come.”

Anders had collapsed onto his stomach on on the floor. Semen was dripping steadily from his ass, and every part of him hurt in some way. He smiled dreamily.

Scooting close to Anders so he was sitting right at his side, Fenris reached out. Anders felt the ropes tighten for a moment, then loosen significantly. He breathed relief when they fell away, and he brought his hands back to the floor.

“It is up to you whether you choose to heal yourself, boy,” Fenris rasped. At the look on Anders’ face he quickly added, “Not now. When you get home. I know you are in no position to make decisions for yourself at present.”

Anders rolled over, wincing as his backside made contact with the floor beneath him. It stung, but the cool hardwood felt strangely pleasant on his bruises, and he did not complain.

“So this is twice now,” Anders pointed out, counting out _two_ on his fingers before flopping his hand into Fenris’ lap. “And it doesn't exactly feel… casual.” He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes cautiously. “So… Master…? Is this… like,  a regular thing now? Us?”

Fenris was quiet for a while, his expression sullen. He busied himself with Anders hands, linking their fingers then unraveling them again to trace his knuckles. Anders gave him time, watching him examine his palms. This moment of intimacy was even weirder than when they kissed, and Anders didn't know how to feel about it.

After a long few minutes and a great sigh, Fenris looked up at him. Although he faced him, his eyes did not quite meet his, and they kept darting to the floor. “I want you,” he stated flatly. “I mean, I do hate you, mage. But you're…” He grimaced, searching for the right words. “You're mine.” It was not a question, for good or for ill, and Anders did notice this.

He let his head fall back to the floor with a tired laugh. “Alright,” he conceded. It was good enough for him.

The corners of Fenris’ lips twitched, almost like he knew where Anders’ mind was at. “Told you I could take control, didn't I?”

Anders smiled. “You did.”

“And?”

“I am yours, Master,” he submitted coyly.

“Good boy,” Fenris purred, and Anders felt himself grow soft inside. The lyrium-lined hand curled into his hair and stroked his scalp, making him sigh.

“Just know that if that… _thing_ …” Fenris looked like it was truly a struggle not to call Justice a demon. “...Does try to pull anything, I won't hesitate to stop it. You are mine. If it tries to overpower me in that... I really will not hesitate.”

Justice was still too drunk to react, but Anders felt his chest tighten anyway. He knew what justice called for, knew what would come of it, and knew Fenris’ control could not last forever with that in mind. But he smiled stiffly all the same. “Understood.” His body and mind were just too exhausted to worry, and he still felt powerless; safe under Fenris’ command.

Fenris cocked his head. His flesh was still dappled pink with the blush of pleasure, and his white hair stuck to his forehead as he grinned. “Y’know,” he said suddenly is a low voice. “I think I’ll let you keep that collar, if this is… a regular thing, whatever it is.”

His stomach lurched. He smiled. “Thank you, Master.”

“I want you to wear it every day,” Fenris said.

Anders raised his eyebrows. “Are you serious?”

“Of course.” The elf bristled, his lip curling. “It is hardly your place to be ashamed of your Master, is it?”

Glaring, Anders made a noise of irritation. “No, Master.”

“I want you to feel me on you. Constantly. Even when you are not bruised or bleeding.”

He felt a tingle in his chest, and hummed approvingly. “Yes, Master.” They met eyes. Fenris looked like it was hurting him. His eyes were rather watery. “Do you need anything, Master?” He spoke as though from a distance, he was so light-headed and still lost to his deference. But Fenris shook his head.

“I… need to see you safe to be around.” His baritone cracked. “I need to know that _it_ will not hurt you… or anyone else.” He swallowed.

Anders felt a lump in his throat, and let his gaze trail to the ceiling while Fenris gripped his hand. “I cannot promise I will be safe forever. I just can’t do that,” he admitted. “But Justice is as drawn to you now as I am, and if he will let me submit to you without protest from now on… this will all be much easier. I may be safer under your watch.”

“Drawn to me, are you?” And there was a smile in Fenris’ voice that pulled Anders’ eyes back to him. Both men grinned awkwardly.

“Well you’re… decent to look at, at least,” Anders said playfully, his tone light and mocking.

Fenris rolled his eyes and grumbled.

At this, he stood, and Anders’ palm felt suddenly cold without Fenris’ caress - a fact that surprised and even frightened him a little. He yawned, and folded his hands on his stomach as the elf walked away. There he felt the damp residue of his own blood and semen there. He sighed, and waited.

His Master returned soon with the same bucket he had fetched last time as well. Anders smiled sleepily up at him. It was with remarkable tenderness that Fenris began to clean him, and it was... strangely calming. He sank into the sensation, and Anders eyes fluttered shut peacefully.

"Thank you," he murmured, "Master..." Anders had rolled over onto his stomach, and Fenris was wiping the blood from his lower back when the mage’s breathing began to deepen. Fenris blinked.

“Mage?”

No response. He was asleep.

Fenris shook his head in amusement, and continued to clean his mage. His mage. His. All his. The thought was wonderful, as he so enjoyed their time together, but it was equally disturbing, and deeply shameful to him. He hated and feared magic and demons, and now...?

Now, he had power over the thing he feared. Now, he was in control, and could keep the abomination under his thumb. Now, he had a mage in his pocket. Now. he was attached to him. Now, he wanted to protect him. Now, he _cared_.

Fenris sat back. He dropped the cloth into the bucket and watched the mage’s blood swirl beneath the glassy surface of the water. _Now… he cared_.

Without warning, his body tensed, and his face burned. He shook his head, knowing what was coming and desperate to stop it, unprepared for it and wildly ashamed, but it was too late. His eyes welled. He blinked, and the tears fell against his will.

Sobbing sheepishly, Fenris curled up against the abomination. Moving to the bed seemed like such effort, and with the mage here on the floor, it was too easy to just lie down on the hardwood with him. He sniffed, tears still streaming, and awkwardly placed an arm over Anders’ shoulders, pulling himself a little closer. This was warm. Comforting. _Safe_.

It was Fenris’ last thought before his sadness whisked him into restless dreams, that maybe the mage’s need for safety was also his own, and maybe - just _maybe_ \- this arrangement could provide that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So begins their unhealthy relationship, and so ends this fic. <3 Thanks for being patient with me!

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Anders is manic.


End file.
